


War Stories Revisited

by allfireburns



Category: Firefly
Genre: Backstory, Character of Color, Friendship, Gen, POV Third Person, Pre-Canon, Prison, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfireburns/pseuds/allfireburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles following Mal and Zoe through the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Stories Revisited

The first time Zoe took any notice of Mal, it was in the middle of a firefight. Then, he was just some kid who'd just volunteered, who froze the first time he was faced with the real live enemy. Zoe didn't take much notice of it, just elbowed him in the back as she passed by him and told him to just shoot something, unless he _wanted_ to die.

And unlike so many other newbies, instead of just staring at her and stammering that he couldn't, he listened to her.

* * *

Mal came barrelling out of his tent with a yell, half-dressed, while everyone around the tent stared at him uncertainly, and a couple other privates followed him out of the tent, snickering. Zoe raised an eyebrow, just waiting to hear the explanation for this.

"There's a possum!" he shouted. "In my _bed_. I signed up for fighting, not gorram possums!"

Zoe stared at him for a moment longer, while other soldiers broke into laughter, and then she shook her head slowly. That boy needed looking after, and she sure as hell didn't want to be the one to do it.

* * *

"Zoe," Mal whispered, his arms bloodied to the elbow as he held his hands and a mass of bloody cloth to the gaping chest wound in a man's chest. Not just any man. Private Harper. He and Mal had been buddies almost since Mal joined up. "Zoe, you gotta call for a medic."

She flinched as a beam of light passed through the window of the wrecked out building they'd hidden in. If those seekers found them... "Can't. They can't get in here without giving us away, and then we all get shot."

"Zoe," he said again, a bit more desperation in his voice, but he didn't say anything more. Zoe couldn't watch the rest. She couldn't watch as Private Harper died, and a little more of the innocent volunteer faded from Mal's eyes.

* * *

Zoe would have laughed at anyone else if they went off on the rambles Mal did, about glory and honor and freedom. It _was_ laughable, especially to a career soldier like her.

But something about Mal made her not laugh. Something made her stop and listen to him. He was just some silly kid who'd volunteered, but he believed every word he said. And the other soldiers, they believed him too, and fought better for it.

And Zoe decided to believe him too, just as a trial run sort of thing. Funny thing is, it never let her down.

* * *

Mal never realized how solid bullets were. It seemed obvious, but the full reality of it never hit him until he actually got hit by one.

It knocked him down, knocked the wind out of him - and it felt like a punch in the gut. He was on his back and bleeding in the dirt before he realized what happened.

Zoe saw and shouted for a medic over the sound of gunfire, never missing a beat before returning fire.

"Zoe," Mal said, voice strained with pain. "Zoe, 'm I gonna die?"

* * *

Mal was good at violence - not as good as Zoe, but she'd had practice for years longer than Mal. Mal threw himself into battle with this wild, almost joyful abandon where it didn't seem to matter if he got hurt, and that was how he always came out of it (so far, the pessimistic part of her brain always added).

She'd never figured him for someone who could fix things as well as break them. But watching his concentration as he sewed up a tear in the leather of his jacket, she decided she had time to refigure that view.

* * *

There weren't a lot of cherry blossoms on the border worlds. There were on this moon, maybe because it was closer to the Core than most, maybe because of some long-ago settler with a green thumb. Whatever it was, Zoe wasn't ever going to get the image of cherry blossoms drifint down to land in blood out of her head.

And Mal sat there, gun lying over his lap, staring into space. It was his first battle as a sergeant. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd seen people die. It was the first time he'd seen people die because he ordered them there.

"Ma- Sir?" she said carefully.

"Leave me alone, Zoe," he said softly, hoarsely. "Just... leave me alone."

* * *

"Zoe."

She didn't open her eyes, in the vain hope that maybe if she pretended to be dead he'd leave her alone. Unfortunately, Mal was more persistant than that.

"Zoe, I need you to wake up. You need to put in a call to the supply sergeant, tell him we need fresh supplies right away. All the food we got's rotten, weather we've been having."

For a moment, he was silent, and then he prodded her shoulder gently. "Zoe?"

Still, she didn't open her eyes. "Sir, all due respect, but if you don't let me sleep for at least two hours, I will kill you myself."

"...Right. I'll, uh... find someone else."

* * *

Zoe wasn't sure how she wound up going to this makeshift field hospital _with_ Mal. She could've just loaded him on a mule, let him go off...

But even if he'd never admit it, she could tell he was scared. She didn't blame him, where that shrapnel had hit him, so close to his spine. He was scared he'd never walk again.

So she went with him, out of loyalty, and because some friendships are deeper than a marriage in certain ways.

She didn't hold his hand. That would've scared him more. Instead, she sat next to him and told him she hadn't whined half this much the last time _she_ got shot.

* * *

Serenity was such a pretty name for a slaughterhouse. Even Zoe never thought it could be like this, before they actually came here, and she knew that Mal, all hope and faith against all logic, certainly didn't.

And he still thought they could win. He never wavered. When he thought no one saw him, he prayed, in quiet moments and with fire and flying metal all around them. He prayed for God to get them through. But as more and more of their men died around them, Zoe just had to think that if they lost this, she couldn't bear to watch Mal's face the moment he realized it.

* * *

Mal never did know when to keep his mouth shut. Not with superior officers, which was why he'd never been promoted past sergeant. Not with the Alliance soldiers who'd been set to guard the captured Browncoats. In point of fact, he made a point of cussing them out every time they walked past, as many different ways as he could think of.

Zoe couldn't watch when they beat him. She just closed her eyes and prayed they wouldn't hit him so hard they cracked his skull, or ruptured something and made him bleed to death internally...

She did smile faintly, shakily, once the guards had left, and Mal got to his feet, bleeding and bruised but not dead. "That was very creative, sir."

He gave her a bloody smile in return. "Thanks."

* * *

When they were finally let out, Mal needed Zoe to help him walk straight. It was a clear night, so they could see the stars, and the light of Alliance ships zig-zagging across the sky. Zoe rather doubted there were any Independent ships still flying.

And here they were, on a planet far from both their homes.

"Sir?" Zoe said softly, and that was all she said, because she couldn't make herself actually ask what they did now.

Mal's eyes were on the sky, his expression more closed and dark than Zoe'd ever seen it. "Let's go live our lives."


End file.
